The morning sun over the capital of Jaar did nothing to warm the heavy, suffocating air inside the council chambers. High arched windows cast long shadows across the massive stone table where the kingdom's remaining leadership sat gathered.
At the head of the table sat Seravine, her expression an unreadable mask of absolute composure.
"And the King?" Eddran asked, his voice cutting through the tense murmurs of the gathered nobles. He leaned forward, his hands braced against the dark wood. "The rumors from the royal quarters grow louder by the hour. The council requires a status, Your Majesty."
"His Majesty is indisposed," Seravine replied smoothly, her tone leaving entirely no room for negotiation. She didn't blink, didn't shift. "He is sick, Eddran. But the crown's administrative mind remains entirely lucid. Let us focus on the borders, where our attention is actually required."
